


we go down together

by LightInTheVoid



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Everyone Lives But Baze AU, Force Ghosts, I'm so sorry, Look to the Force and you will always find me, M/M, also K2SO I guess??, except not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightInTheVoid/pseuds/LightInTheVoid
Summary: Chirrut has always believed that when the time came, however it came, he and Baze would fade into the Force together.The Force has other plans. Chirrut tries to cope.aka. Baze preempts Chirrut to the master switch: an Everyone Lives but Baze AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first foray into Star Wars fic, and so of course I immediately go for the angstiest thing I could hah Many thanks to my friend for beta-reading!
> 
> The way this happens in canon is perfect and moving and I would not change a thing, except, you know, the actual end of it haha but I also couldn't help but think, but what if....? Followed by a bunch of other people's fic and headcanons inspiring me and this is the result.
> 
> Also, just a massive thank you to everyone in the Rogue One fandom, especially you spiritassassin fans, for all of the content you create. I love it. I love it all. Keep up the awesome work!

“The master switch. It’s out there, at that console.” 

A rustle of cloth accompanies the words; presumably Captain Melshi pointing out said console. The gesture is wasted on Chirrut – not because he cannot see it, but because ten meters away the Force sings with beckoning notes. As if in challenge, blaster fire peppers the edge of their refuge in a counterpoint tune, dark and deadly. 

There’s a lull in the fire. “I’m going for it!” the rebel beside Baze declares, desperation lacing his tone. Barely two steps out, a blaster bolt brings him down; his lifelight winks abruptly out of Chirrut’s senses. Melshi swears. 

Chirrut ducks back behind cover as he hears Baze open fire on the other side, kneeling to rest for a moment. He is suited for short, sharp skirmishes, not prolonged fire fights; this is Baze’s domain much more than his, and it wears on him. Across the battlefield, the Force weaves in whispering patterns, calling him. So many are counting on them to reach that console: Bodhi, the lost son of Jedha, who finally returned only to have Jedha lost to him, to _them_ ; Jyn, who shines like a pulsar and Cassian who orbits her like a pale moon. 

_I am one with the Force and the Force is with me_

_and I fear nothing for all is as the Force wills it._

Chirrut stands, grasping his staff upright before him. The Force will guide his footsteps. He takes a deep breath – 

The Force _surges_. 

He falters back for a moment, blindsided by a wave where before there were only ripples. Those few crucial moments are all Baze needs; his beloved flares brightly in Chirrut’s senses, determination and resignation overturning doubt. With his mind still reeling, the _thunk_ of Baze’s generator being set down, a muffled curse and the scrape of a gun being picked up are the only physical warnings Chirrut gets before Baze is gone. 

“Baze!” 

Baze runs. 

Even in the days long before his blindness took hold, he has never needed his sight to find Baze. His partner always shines sun-warm in his mind; his feelings drawing Chirrut’s attention like a lodestone. Baze is not like Jyn, who shines with a burning intensity. His Baze is warm like the early morning sun: comforting and gentle and constant, a steady and soothing presence to curl into when the world is too jarring. 

Chirrut watches as the Force swirls around that sunshine glow, murmuring a litany of prayers under his breath at lightning speed. Baze may no longer trust the Force to guide him, to guard him, but it doesn’t matter: Chirrut will believe enough for them both. Still, his faith in the Force can’t keep the tension from his heart, the frown lines from his face or his hands from clutching at his staff tighter. All of his focus is on Baze; Melshi has to pull him out of the way of a stray blaster bolt. 

Baze falters to a stop. For one terrible moment, Chirrut fears him shot, but Baze’s lifelight burns as warmly and as steadily as ever. Then it pulses with triumph, warm and bright and _proud_ and Chirrut can breathe again. 

“He did it!” There’s a fierce grin in Melshi’s voice. “He’s flipped the switch!” 

Chirrut waits for Baze to return to him, as he always does. The blaster fire picks up, a rebel blaster joining the fray. 

_Why isn’t he coming back?_

“Baze!” 

The Force swirls around him, chaotic and unreadable. Chirrut frowns, reaching out to tug at that sunshine glow, to try and draw it back to him. As always, the Force slips through his grasp like incense smoke, never his to hold. 

“He’s – he’s pinned down at the control panel,” Melshi tells him. “The blaster fire’s too heavy to make it back so he’s taken cover.” 

Chirrut draws a sharp breath. _Baze._ He drops to one knee, hand sweeping out for the polished lines of the lightbow he had set down earlier. Beside him, Melshi growls a curse and lets loose a volley of blaster shots before he is forced to dive for cover from the return fire. One bolt sizzles past Chirrut’s cheek, leaving a trail that reeks of scorched metal and singed skin. Chirrut ignores it; ignores the ringing in his ears from the noise of the battle and the sudden fear twisting through his veins, filtering out unnecessary sounds and sensations as he focuses on the firefight beyond. His Baze is still out there, and needs cover. 

He raises the lightbow and _listens_. Imperial blasters fire at a slightly higher pitch than the weapons favoured by the Alliance, though they sound identical to the untrained ear. 

_There._

_I am one with the Force –_

He fires. 

_– and the Force is with me._

The Force churns with the death of the troopers, a moment ahead of the screams and explosion that reaches his ears. Baze’s warm glow in the Force pulses – _pride in his partner’s skill_ , Chirrut interprets with a warm glow of his own, though exhaustion makes it hard to read the nuances well. More importantly, he can feel that sunshine glow on its way back to him now, Baze’s footfalls vibrating through the sand under his feet. 

“He’s coming, he’s coming,” Melshi tells him unnecessarily, though Chirrut barely hears him. All of his focus is on the glow of his beloved coming ever closer, offering up a constant refrain of prayer for the Force to guide Baze back to him safely. 

_I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me I’m one with the Force and the Force is –_

The Force surges in warning again, too early, too late. Chirrut is already on his feet, screaming out Baze’s name in anguish even as an explosion hungrily devours his words, _his heart_. His beloved’s aura flares like a supernova, beautiful and so, so bright that Chirrut can almost feel the warmth on his face, before it flickers and collapses in on itself like a dying star. 

A warning too early for Chirrut; too late for Baze. 

Sand shifts treacherously beneath his boots before Chirrut even realises he’s running, staff sweeping across the ground before him for obstacles that he leaps over in his frantic haste. There’s a black hole yawning ahead of him, swallowing up the flows of the Force where his sense of _Baze_ usually is and Chirrut heads straight into its maw with reckless abandon. 

His haste makes him a fine target for the troopers; blaster fire erupts around him as they renew their attack. Chirrut barely hears them over the pounding of his heart, the prayers that spill from his lips warring with the anguished thoughts in his mind as he runs towards that terrible _absence_. 

_I am one with the Force –_

_Nonononono –_

_– and the Force is with me –_

_Please let him live –_

_– I am one with the Force –_

“Baze!” 

_– and the Force is with me –_

“ _Baze!_ ” 

Fire rips across his calf, sending him sprawling in the sand only a few meters away from his goal. Chirrut grits his teeth against the pain and abandons his staff, pulling himself forward arm over arm until finally his questing fingers touch the familiar texture of Baze’s boiler suit. It’s ragged and singed at the edges, crumbling under his fingertips. He sobs and drags himself closer, heedless to the danger around them as he gropes for Baze’s shoulders and rolls him over into his lap. 

This close, he can feel the faint pulse of the living Force, flickering and feeble under his hands as he reaches for his beloved’s face. “Baze,” he breathes, fingers tracing the shape of a brow, the curve of a cheek. Then, louder, a sob, a prayer, a plea: “ _Baze._ ” 

Baze’s face twitches under his touch. Chirrut has always known when Baze is looking at him; he imagines he feels as flowers must, when they turn their faces towards the sun. It’s no different now, a grunt escaping his partner as he shifts his head to look up at Chirrut. “I’m here,” Baze rasps. “Chirrut, I’m here.” 

His voice is still the most beautiful sound Chirrut has ever heard. 

Words catch in his throat, too much to say. He traces some of them – _my love_ and _don’t go_ and a simple, shaky, _please_ – across Baze’s cheek instead, in the ancient Jedhan script they had studied as acolytes. Chirrut knows Baze understands them by the way his breath hitches, the way that fluttering pulse of _life_ under his hands pulls together to survive just a little while longer. 

But his pleas are pointless. This is the will of the Force. 

He tries to smile despite how his heart is breaking; Chirrut will not have Baze’s last moments seeped in despair. There’s a familiar huff of amusement and then a hand is brushing his chin, curling against his cheek. Chirrut leans into the touch. He startles when a thumb rough with calluses clumsily brushes across his cheek, wiping away the tears that he didn’t realise were streaming down his face. “What’s this?” Baze asks, amusement tinging his slurred words. “Isn’t all… as the Force… wills it?” 

Chirrut’s breath catches. The half-smile under his fingers is soft, lacking the bite of mockery that usually laces those words. “…Are _you_ trying to comfort _me_ , Baze Malbus?” 

The half-smile quirks the tiniest bit higher. Chirrut presses his thumb into the curve of it, listening to the wet drag of his partner’s breaths. “All _is_ as the Force wills it,” he agrees, even as his heart rebels – _not this, why him, not him_. “Glad you finally decided to stop being difficult about it.” 

Baze snorts. His thumb brushes shakily over Chirrut’s cheek again, taking fresh tears with it. His hand falters, losing strength, and Chirrut quickly reaches up to catch it with his own before it can fall. The Force twines around them, hazy and hard to read when his focus is elsewhere. “…I am one with the Force,” he murmurs, “and the Force is with _us_.” 

Chirrut leans down, pressing his forehead against Baze’s. “I will find you,” he murmurs fiercely. “No matter where you go, I will _always_ find you.” His hand squeezes his beloved’s, once so warm but now cool against his skin. “Our bond is too strong for me to let you go so easily.” He had let Baze walk away from him once, knowing that the Force would lead him home to Chirrut when the time was right. Those years had been long, and lonely. He didn’t think he could face them again, will of the Force or no. 

Their faces are so close, Chirrut can feel Baze smile. “Then I will wait for you.” The warm glow of Baze’s heart is barely an ember now. “Don’t get… too reckless without me.” 

An ugly sob of laughter escapes him. Baze’s hand slides slowly up his cheek, traces the curve of his ear and comes to rest against the back of his head as he leans over Baze. “My faith rests with you, Chirrut.” Baze murmurs, his voice so quiet even Chirrut can barely hear him. “I will always be with you.” 

With a gentle sigh, the last ember flickers out. 

Chirrut’s world goes dark for the second time. 

. 

. 

. 

Many years ago, when the Jedi were murdered across the galaxy in a single sweep, he’d woken screaming. He’d continued to scream as their deaths burned through the Force, burned through _him_ until it felt like his flesh was on fire. Their deaths had threatened to ensnare him and drag him down into the yawning void opening within the Force. He would have been swallowed whole had it not been for Baze. Baze, who had awoken along with him and gathered Chirrut into his arms, confused and terrified for his friend but determined to comfort. Baze had whispered and soothed and sung quiet melodies until Chirrut’s screams dropped into whimpers, until he had curled into the warmth of Baze’s broadening body and felt the fire ebb from his veins. 

Much later, he had felt Jedha burn in the hubris of the Empire as they sped half a galaxy away. His home, his people – all gone in the blink of an eye, falling, falling into that abyss. All but Baze; his Baze, who had watched the destruction with his own eyes, who could surely also feel even the faintest echo of what Chirrut could sense in the Force. Baze, who has always been a gentle heart and a gentle soul sheltering in a body of Jedhan stone. His Baze, who couldn’t hide the pain in his gruff voice as Chirrut demanded answers, yet still found the strength to sit against his back and ground Chirrut with his warm, solid presence. His Baze, who refused to join in with Chirrut as he quietly, desperately prayed, but twined their fingers together to hold Chirrut back from the edge of the abyss yawning at his feet once again. 

There is no Baze to comfort him this time. 

This time, Chirrut doesn’t scream. For once, he doesn’t pray. He stares blindly downwards, breath shuddering in his chest, cold despite the warmth of Scarif’s sun beating down upon him. _Baze is gone_ , he thinks, the words slow and so impossible to understand that he repeats it to himself. _My Baze is gone._

_Not gone forever_ , he would have argued at any other time, to anyone else – usually Baze. _We are all one in the Force eventually, and the Force is all around us._

The thought is of little comfort. 

A blaster bolt sears past his arm, burning through cloth and skin; another slams into his shoulder, knocking him forwards. He curls over Baze’s body protectively, ignoring the pain that his body screams at him, for it pales into insignificance beside the gaping wound inside him that weeps for his lost sun. Chirrut presses his face against Baze’s forehead, heedless of the blood that slicks his forehead, his nose, his cheek. The metallic tang of it blots out the stench of burned flesh. _The Force is with_ us. _Oh, Baze!_

The Force around him keens, screeching high, discordant notes at the edges of his hearing as it is pulled downwards into the black hole left by Baze’s death. Chirrut stands on the edge of it and turns his face towards that black maw, letting it pull at him. _All is as the Force wills it_. There is no Baze to hold him back and bid him stay this time. There is nothing to hold him here: the switch is thrown, the fate of the galaxy now in Jyn and Cassian’s hands. Chirrut prays briefly for the Force to guide their footsteps ( _like it had not guided Baze – had not protected him – but_ all _is as the Force_ wills _it_ ), mumbling words into Baze’s hair even as he hears the crunch of boots on sand that herald Stormtroopers closing in. He stays where he is, Baze’s hand clutched in his as he waits. He has never feared death for himself, always trusting his fate to the guidance of the Force, but he welcomes it almost eagerly now. Chirrut will follow Baze down into that abyss gladly, for what is one of them without the other? 

_I fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it._

Chirrut stiffens as a familiar whine fills the air. The footsteps falter and scatter as the troopers focus on a new threat. He bites back a sob as blaster bolts shred the air above him, the sound of them intimately familiar. The aim less so; Chirrut flinches as one passes too close to his neck. 

_You almost shot me!_

Feelings claw their way through his chest, lodge in his throat. He gasps for breath against Baze’s skin, squeezing his eyes shut uselessly. Even now, it seems Baze is still protecting him. 

Vibrations ripple through the sand as someone runs, dropping by his side in a spray of sand. “Master Îmwe!” 

_Melshi_ , Chirrut notes dimly, refusing to raise his head. It must have been him firing Baze’s gun. A hand lands on his wounded shoulder and jostles it roughly, sending pain lancing down his back. “Master Îmwe, can you hear me? We have to g–” 

The air slams into them, tearing the breath from his lungs. Chirrut’s ears ring as he sprawls across Baze’s body. He has never felt more blind than in this moment, his other senses useless and the Force still falling, falling into the black hole that hollows him. 

“–mwe!” 

_All is as the Force wills it._

“–ster Îmwe!” 

Why must the Force will him to stay _alive_? 

“Master Îmwe!” Melshi shouts, loud enough to be heard over the ringing slowly subsiding in his ears. “We can’t stay here, we have to keep moving!” 

_Keep moving._

But that means leaving Baze. 

Chirrut shudders, every part of him rebelling at the thought. His fingers clutch tighter around Baze’s hand. “You go on ahead, Captain,” he tells Melshi, or tries to. Sand and smoke and sorrow claw the words to pieces as they emerge into the air. “I will stay here.” _Let me stay with him for a little while longer._

“Are you crazy?! If you stay here, you’ll _die!_ ” 

_Good._ Chirrut closes his eyes, letting the words wash over him without paying them any attention. He runs a thumb over Baze’s hand, the rough skin familiar and a pale comfort. For the first time in his life, Chirrut Îmwe does not pray for the Force to guide him, offering up instead only a single plea: _Wait for me, Baze. I will find you, and we will be one in the Force together._

He doesn’t react when Melshi shakes his shoulder again; the pain means nothing. He doesn’t flinch when the Force _booms_ with the arrival of what can only be the Death Star, radiating the same death and destruction that he had sensed above Jedha. Chirrut prays for Cassian and for Jyn, that they have found the plans and transmitted them, but he does not pray for himself. Lets himself slip further into the black hole drawing him down, down, down. 

_Chirrut! Go back!_

Chirrut gasps, eyes opening on reflex. “Baze?” 

“Hey – hey! Over here! _Down here_!” 

Melshi leaves him; Chirrut barely notices as he fumbles for Baze’s wrist with shaking fingers. It’s a vain hope, a pointless hope – because he can’t sense Baze’s warmth in the Force anymore even if he had heard him – but still a hope that comes crashing down in devastating waves when he finds no pulse. 

A hot, arid blast of wind pelts his back with sand. Engines whine; the ground trembles as a ship touches down behind him. Chirrut bows his head, ready to die. 

“–won’t move, help me with him –” 

Hands grab his arms, attempting to drag him away from Baze. Chirrut refuses. 

Then Jyn’s kyber crystal is singing in his ear. “Come on, there’s no time!” Jyn insists, tugging at his arm. “We’ve got to go before they fire!” She curls her hand over his, over Baze’s, coaxing his fingers to let go. Chirrut lets her, because she shines brighter than ever and her touch is like fire to his numb skin. Together she and Melshi manage to drag him to his feet, bearing his leaden weight as the three of them stumble towards the ship. 

“Please,” he whispers. “I can’t – I can’t leave him.” 

Jyn’s grip on him tightens, as though she expects him to throw them off and head back. To be honest, he wants to, despite the Force nudging him onwards. But he will not have Jyn’s light snuffed out simply because she refuses to leave him behind. There’s a softness to her voice amidst the steel when she speaks again. “He’s dead, Chirrut.” 

“I know.” Chirrut closes his eyes again, swallows past the grief rasping his voice. “But he’s all I’ve got.” 

Jyn says nothing. 

They stumble a few more steps until his foot hits the edge of the boarding ramp. Then Jyn’s grip is loosening as she slips out from under his arm. “Tonc, with me!” she snaps, already turning away. Footsteps thunder down the ramp beside him, someone brushing past Chirrut’s side. 

“Come on,” Melshi urges. They stumble up the ramp, Chirrut’s wounded leg starting to throb in earnest at being pushed so hard. Melshi dumps him none too gently in a corner and then retreats, footsteps receding down the ramp. Chirrut leans back against the ship’s hull, brushes a hand across his cheek and finds it wet with Baze’s blood and his tears. 

The others return, clattering heavily up the ramp. They lay their burden down beside Chirrut before the two men make for the front of the ship. Jyn stays behind, kneels down next to him as he reaches out. His fingers brush against familiar braids and he inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut before more tears can fall. 

(“We’re in, Bodhi, go go _go!_ ”) 

The hum of the kyber crystal is almost lost amidst the engines screaming liftoff. Swears echo down from the cockpit (“What the – the horizon _is on_ _kriffing fire!_ ”). Tension is thick and heavy in the air. Jyn’s hand curls around his, guides it to rest atop Baze’s once more and squeezes. “We got the plans to the Rebel fleet,” she tells him as the ship shudders violently. He reaches his other hand out, searching, until he finds her other hand and grips it tight. 

“Thank you.” 

_Thank you for making his sacrifice worth it. Thank you for bringing him back to me._ Whether Jyn hears the multitude of meanings behind those simple words, she says nothing, merely squeezes his hand back for a moment before dropping it. She moves off, staggering as the ship rocks again. 

( _“Come on come on come on –”_ ) 

Exhaustion sets in, making every movement feel like a great undertaking. Still, he lets his fingers wander, skimming up Baze’s arm to his shoulder, his braids, his face. Even in sleep, Baze was never this still, breath always rumbling deep in his chest. Chirrut’s fingers skim the scar across Baze’s cheek, gently trace the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, track the furrows in his brow left from years of Chirrut’s recklessness and the Empire’s cruelty. Every line and crease is a story that Chirrut can recite by heart, even those Baze gained in his time away from his side. 

Now there will be no new stories to remember. 

Chirrut closes his eyes and slides down the wall, wincing as his shifting jostles leg and shoulder both. He curls into Baze’s side as the ship starts to dip and swerve wildly, sending unsecured debris tumbling around the hold. There’s a flurry of swearing somewhere overhead. Far beyond their ship, the Force turns ice-cold and dark, powerful enough for Chirrut to sense even through the numbness that cocoons him. 

( _“Kriff, the Imperial fleet’s arriving!_ ” 

_“TIE fighters on our left! Bodhi, jump to hyperspace! Go!”_ ) 

Chirrut can’t bring himself to care. He rests his head against Baze’s shoulder – remembers doing the same thing barely an hour ago, and how Baze had leaned into him just a little more – and curls his hand around his beloved’s once more. 

Tired, heart-sore and lost, Chirrut lets himself fall into oblivion as the ship quakes. 

\---------------- 

**Author's Note:**

> what are words hah I don’t even know
> 
> *points hurriedly at the tags* hang in there til chapter 3 I swear it gets better!! (probably???) There will be a delay before the next chapters because I’m a slow writer normally and I'm also trying to finish another fic first sorry;;
> 
> I’m more of a shy lurker on tumblr so my blog is a wasteland but please feel free to come yell incoherently with me on tumblr regardless about these two loveable spacedads [here](http://light-in-the-void.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
